Paint It Black
by givemekevinbacon
Summary: There are certain things a woman should never have to face alone. A miscarriage is one of them. Contains a tragic amount of angst and sprinkles of fluff.


_A/N: I got two requests to write a story where Cuddy was pregnant, so of course, my angst muse took control of my body and I came up with this little gem. It's raw and it's emotional, but I think it works. And who knows, maybe one day I will write something that's a little more uplifting. _

_Though I highly doubt it._

_On a semi-related note, if there are any stories/prompts you would like me to attempt to tackle, please let me know! You can send me a PM on here, or send me an ask on tumblr ( .com). I'm running out of ideas for shorter stories, but I don't want to stop writing all together. _

* * *

She remembered the color of the strip on the home pregnancy test—it was pink. She spent minutes obsessing over it, memorizing it with every blink of her tear filled eyes for fear that it would disappear. It was a light pink—dainty, feminine. It wasn't bright, or loud and obnoxious, it was demure.

It was a color she would never forget.

The rosy pink from the two lines on the stick was permanently etched into her brain, and it seemed to follow her everywhere she went. She first noticed it when she walked past the NICU, and the sight of the newborn baby girls swaddled up in the soft, warm blankets caused her eyes to glisten. And in a sudden moment of weakness, she moved her hand to her stomach and paused, letting it linger as she tried to suppress the smile that was undoubtedly escaping from her lips.

But the smile was gone as soon as it had appeared, because for someone who believed in things that were good and true, for someone who _didn't _take things at face value, for someone who thought the impossible was in fact possible, she knew there were risks.

She'd learned long ago that pregnancy simply wasn't in the cards for her. And once she'd started the adoption process, she was okay with that. She wanted to be a mother. She _needed _to be a mother—how it happened wasn't important.

But on this bright and sunny Wednesday morning, she'd discovered that maybe life had dealt her a new hand.

During the twenty minutes that she usually allotted for lunch, she'd dragged Nurse Brenda into an empty exam room.

"I need you to run a blood test," she said, keeping her voice firm and in check with her administrative attitude.

"Okay," answered Brenda, furrowing her brow at their discrete location. "I take it this just isn't any old blood test. Does this have to do with House? Because I swear Dr. Cuddy, if he's gotten you in some type of legal trouble again, I will personally hide his cane for a week. And I won't even tell _you _where I've hidden it."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and held out her arm.

"Well that's just downright terrifying," said Cuddy, a sarcastic bite to her words. "I can't draw it myself," she said, answering all of the nurse's questions without actually answering any of them at all.

Brenda raised her eyebrows before retrieving a needle from the cart. Cuddy tied the rubber strip around her bicep, tying a knot and then biting off the excess amount with her teeth.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me what this is about," said Brenda. She stuck the needle into Cuddy's skin without warning, and Cuddy bit down on her bottom lip, wincing as she watched the blood leave her veins.

It was so red that it was almost black.

"You'll find out when the tests come back." Cuddy folded her arms across her chest and gave her friend a small smile.

"I'll tell the lab to put a rush on it," said Brenda. Cuddy nodded appreciatively at her. Brenda paused at the doorway and then turned around, a worried look on her face. "Is everything okay, Dr. Cuddy?"

"Everything is fine," she answered. Cuddy paused, clearing her throat as she looked towards the doorway. "Do me a favor though? Don't put my name on that."

"A pseudonym? Are you sure everything is okay?"

Brenda folded her arms and eyed her suspiciously—Cuddy usually wasn't one to pull the wool over the hospital's eyes.

"I would have done the test myself if I had known this conversation would be _more_ painful than the needle," said Cuddy flatly.

"Fine," said Brenda, shaking her head with a slight smile on her face. "I'll label it as Elizabeth Darcy. No one suspects that you're just a hopeless romantic who sits alone and re-reads Pride and Prejudice every month."

Cuddy scoffed.

"I do not do that," said Cuddy, straightening her back and arching an elegant eyebrow. Both she and Brenda refrained from muttering the _"anymore" _that was inevitably on the tip of their tongues. "Just get the damn test to the lab, please," said Cuddy, a smile on her face that indicated her mood did not match her harsh words.

"I'll get one of the interns to bring you a salad while you wait," said Brenda, nodding at her. "It's always fun to scare them a bit."

Brenda walked out the door, shutting it quickly and softly as to not let anyone know who the occupant of the exam room was.

Cuddy paced back and forth in the small room, drumming her fingers against her elbow as she desperately looked for a distraction. The clicking of her heels and the ticking of the clock were the only noises that filled the otherwise silenced room, and Cuddy sighed as she grew more impatient.

Her eyes darted to her watch and she flicked her wrist, turning the gold, oversized menswear watch towards her—it had only been ten minutes since Brenda had left with the tiny vial of blood that could change her life.

She took a deep breath. She couldn't get ahead of herself.

Cuddy walked over to her purse and pulled out her phone, smiling to herself as she saw that she had a text message from House.

_Come quick! Masters and Chase are arguing about who has the better hair. I thought you could be the deciding vote._

She smirked to herself and her hand flew to her stomach for the second time that day. She sat down on the exam table, shifting uncomfortably on top of the crinkly paper. Her fingers began to type furiously, and for a moment, she considered telling him to come down and meet her in the clinic.

But for some reason, she decided against it. Instead, she typed:

_I highly doubt that, considering I just passed the two of them in the clinic. Get back to work, House. I'll come entertain you later. _

His response was almost immediate.

_I'm going to hold you to that._

She didn't answer. She set her phone back in her purse and got back up, continuing to pace back and forth.

One of the interns did eventually bring her the salad, and she smiled graciously at the timid girl as she took the box from her. She placed the carton on the table, knowing that it wasn't going to get eaten.

Her mind was too preoccupied to even consider the thought of food.

It took half an hour for the blood work to come back. The Dean of Medicine in her knew that thirty minutes was as fast as it could have possibly been, but the patient side of her felt like it had taken an eternity.

Brenda opened the door and shut it rather quickly, a shocked yet excited look on her face. Cuddy looked up, and the second she laid eyes on Brenda, her grey orbs began to well with tears.

"You are going to get so fat," said Brenda.

Cuddy lifted a hand to her mouth, covering it as an audible gasp escaped. She and House were going to have a baby.

* * *

The nursery was going to be yellow. Not blue or pink, because she didn't really believe in that whole gender representation bullshit, and green was too loud of a color for a newborn. But yellow, yellow was perfect.

It was calming and quiet, and could very well be for a girl or a boy.

But once again, she was getting ahead of herself. She was only a couple of weeks along, and she hadn't even told him yet. She didn't know why, really. She simply hadn't.

They'd never talked about it before, because there hadn't been a reason to—they were both under the impression that she physically couldn't have children. But she'd gotten sick about a month ago and had stopped taking her birth control regularly, because it was interfering with the antibiotics she was taking. And then she had run out, and she _swore_ she kept meaning to refill it, but it never seemed to happen.

She knew when something was going to make him angry, or trigger a rather emotional memory, and she knew when something was going to make him happy, even if he wouldn't admit it, or he masked it underneath a sarcastic remark.

But for the first time in her life, she had no idea what he was going to say. So she said nothing. And she gave Brenda strict instructions to keep her mouth shut as well—the entire hospital staff finding out she was pregnant before he did would only ensure a disaster.

So she waited.

Which as it turned out, was the right decision. Because on a rather rainy Thursday afternoon, she sat in a board meeting pretending to listen to what her employers were telling her as she slowly became aware of the fact that she was having a miscarriage.

* * *

He'd figured it out after about two weeks. She started eating a little more than normal—nothing major, but she occasionally went back for seconds—she no longer had a glass of wine at dinner, she did more yoga than usual, and she had started to drink decaf.

It also helped that her boobs were practically spilling out of her bra.

He guessed that she was about two months along, but he refused to be the one to bring it up. He knew she would tell him on her own time.

He wasn't sure why she was keeping it a secret, but he wasn't hurt by it. He knew that this was something she had always wanted, and maybe she was going to be a little selfish and keep the news all to herself, just for a little bit.

There wasn't anything wrong with that, really. Besides, you were supposed to wait until after the first trimester to say anything to people anyway. Although he supposed that particular social rule excluded the father of the child.

But he'd never been one to follow social graces, and he felt it best to act as normal as possible in this situation.

In other words, he tried to guilt it out of her.

He'd come home one night after a particularly trying case. It wasn't late by any means, just past eight or so, but he felt like it was nearing three in the morning. The patient's family had been a nightmare, Masters was acting _annoyingly _ethical—more so than usual, that is—and he was exhausted.

As he walked in the door he glanced at his watch, noticing that Rachel would be in bed by now. For a moment he felt a little guilty for being overjoyed by that thought, but the feeling quickly passed. But he paused at the entryway, because that was the first time he had felt _guilty _about anything concerning the three year old.

He supposed that was a good sign.

"Hey," said House tiredly as he walked in the door, rubbing his hand across his forehead. He furrowed his brow as he looked around; all of the lights were off. He shrugged, assuming she was on some new energy-saving kick. "You should have heard Master's today, going on and on about the rights of the patient and their families and all that crap that I don't actually give a crap about. What about my right to not be annoyed? Her priorities could really use some straightening out."

No answer.

He slipped out of his leather jacket and hung it on the appropriate hook—something he had _also _never done before. Cuddy being pregnant was subconsciously kicking his ass.

House continued his walk into through the living room, expecting to hear some type of witty response as to why a little ethicality in his DDX room was completely necessary, but instead he was met with silence.

He chuckled to himself when he saw her curled up on the couch. Her hair was sprawled out across one of her ridiculously uncomfortable throw pillows and a book was wedged between two fingers.

She was asleep at 8:30 on a Wednesday night. If he wasn't suspicious before, he certainly was now.

House walked over to her and took the book out of her hand. He shook his head when he realized she was reading Pride and Prejudice for the millionth time. He reached down to pull the blanket up over her, but he paused, letting his hand linger on her stomach for a split second.

His face softened as his thumb gently rubbed the area above her navel.

Cuddy began to stir, and he immediately drew his hand back.

"Hi," she said as her eyes fluttered open. She looked around the room, confused by her surroundings as she sat up. "You just getting home?"

He nodded, pushing her legs to the side as he collapsed next to her. "Case is under control," he said.

She smiled and muttered something along the lines of "good" as she stifled a yawn. She smiled sheepishly at him as she sunk back into the cushions and let her legs fall on top of his lap.

He rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed. But he eventually draped his arm over her legs and slowly ran his hand up and down them.

She sighed contently.

"Have you eaten anything?" she asked as she rearranged the pillow that was underneath her head. "I put the leftovers in the fridge if you want them."

"I'll get it later," he said. He paused, closing his eyes for a moment as he debated his next move. He had wanted to wait for her to tell him, but he was growing impatient—and watching her squirm as she lied to him wasn't so fun anymore. "Everything okay with you?" he asked, finally giving in.

She eyed him quizzically.

"I'm fine," she said, answering him so quickly that it felt rehearsed—probably because it was. "Why do you ask?"

"You're not usually asleep this early."

"I was tired."

"You stopped drinking wine."

"I'm trying not to drink as much."

"You're doing more yoga than usual."

"I'm working on my flexibility."

"You're flexible enough."

She opened her mouth to respond, her brow furrowed and her eyes blazing. "Paranoid much?" she asked.

"Nope," said House, shaking his head. "Just concerned."

She scoffed.

"No you're not. You think I'm hiding something, and you're trying to figure it out. I'm not a puzzle, House."

"I didn't say you were." He sighed, rubbing his forehead once more. She removed her feet from his lap in an irritated fashion, and he held his arm out, catching her hand in his. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

Their eyes locked, and for a moment he could have sworn she was going to tell him. He watched as her eyes darted back and forth and she bit down on her bottom lip. He gently squeezed her hand, expecting—maybe even hoping—that the small gesture would do the trick.

Instead, she cleared her throat and said:

"It's supposed to rain on Thursday."

He slowly let go of her hand, and she folded her arms across her chest before getting up and heading towards the kitchen.

"I'll make sure to bring an umbrella."

* * *

She remembered every single detail of that rainy Thursday morning. She'd worn her black suit to work—the one with the skirt that was perhaps half an inch too short—and she'd put on a dark purple silk shirt, while her impossibly high black louboutin stilettos polished off the look.

He was half asleep when she left for work, but she could feel his eyes on her as she got ready. He watched her as she got dressed, he watched her as she effortlessly applied her makeup, he watched her as she flipped through her emails and waited for her hair to dry—he just sat there, watching her every move.

But she pretended not to notice.

She sat down on the bed on her way out, brushing her hand across his arm in attempts to wake up.

"Do you plan on coming to work today?" she asked, eyeing him as his eyes fluttered open.

"I don't know boss, what do you think I should do? Because I was thinking we could stay here." He grabbed her hand and pulled her on top of him, and she pretended to look annoyed as per their usual routine. "Hang out," he pressed his lips to hers. "Relax."

Cuddy sighed, smiling down on him as she pulled away.

"And by that I mean have a lot of really great sex," said House.

She rolled her eyes.

"I figured as much."

She lightly kissed him once more. "Try to be in by ten, okay?"

He nodded at her and then called out:

"Don't forget your umbrella."

Cuddy paused at the doorway, furrowing her brow as she stared blankly at him.

"It's Thursday," he continued, "it's supposed to rain."

She smiled sheepishly, smiling at him as she muttered, "Right, thanks."

She was halfway out the door when she heard him get up. Cuddy watched as he limped towards her, a determined look on his face. He brought a hand to his face, closing his eyes momentarily as he tried to find the words.

"The rain," he said, his voice trailing off, "it's not going to keep me away."

"From work?" she asked, confused by his sudden admission.

He shrugged.

"If there was a sudden storm…" His eyes darted to her stomach and her breath hitched momentarily as she began to understand the meaning laced underneath his words, "I wouldn't just disappear. I would you know, help you."

She tentatively lifted her eyes to meet his, and she paused, debating on whether or not she was ready for this conversation.

He placed his hand on her forearm, prepared to pull her towards him if she backed away.

"That's good to know," she said, gripping the hand that covered her. "I'm going to be late."

He nodded and released her from his grip, and she gave him a slight smile before heading towards the door. She got about halfway there when she suddenly paused, turning around before she took hurried steps towards him.

She gently pressed her lips to his, letting them linger on his bottom lip for a moment longer than she normally did. Her fingers ran through the hairs at the nape of his neck, and his hand tugged at the bottom of her suit jacket.

"Thank you," she murmured.

And before he could say anything else she was already out the door.

He chuckled to himself when he realized she had left her umbrella sitting by the door.

* * *

Thursday afternoon was a bit of a blur for her. The memories came in waves, shocking her system with each reminder of what she had lost. She tried to block them out, but they flooded in, and no force was strong enough to stop them.

She was in a board meeting when it happened.

There was a pain in her stomach and she bit down on her bottom lip to stop herself from crying out in agony. She closed her eyes and clenched her fist, blocking out the sound of her employers as she tried to calm herself down.

But she could feel the blood as it slowly trickled down her leg, and she cursed herself for not wearing pants that morning as she dug through her briefcase searching for something, _anything_ that would make it stop, even though deep down she knew it was already too late.

Tears began to well in her eyes but she quickly blinked them away. She found her phone and texted Brenda:

_I'm in conference room two. You need me. Now._

She took a deep breath as she pressed the wad of tissues she had found in her briefcase and moved her hand so that it was hidden underneath the table.

She counted the seconds until Brenda arrived. She was sure her aloofness hadn't gone unnoticed to the board, and either they'd stopped trying to draw her attention back, or were completely ignoring her presence—she didn't care which.

It took 97 seconds for Brenda to reach the conference room. Cuddy closed her eyes as she opened the door, prepared to push her chair back.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," said Brenda, a worried look on her face, "but there's been an emergency in the clinic that needs Dr. Cuddy's attention.

Cuddy quickly excused herself from the table, trying to walk as normally as possible as she exited the room.

Shutting the door behind her, she folded an arm over her abdomen. "I need you to get me to an exam room," she whispered. She took a deep breath, shaking her head and cursing every god imaginable, "I think…I think I'm having a miscarriage."

Everything else was a blur. She didn't remember how she got to the exam room, or what had happened when she got there.

She remembered the silence from the ultrasound that confirmed her worst nightmare—she refused to use the term "mother's instinct". But she supposed nightmare was just as bad, considering this was the furthest thing from a dream.

It was a cold, harsh, reality.

She remembered Brenda muttering phrases like "I'm so sorry, ," and "It might be a good idea to take a few days off."

Cuddy tuned most of them out. She knew what she was facing these next few days. Physically, psychologically—she was prepared for it. She _had _to be prepared for it.

Even though they both knew no one could ever be prepared for something like this.

"Dr. Cuddy ," said Brenda, tentatively. "We need to find someone to perform a D and C. I'm not authorized to do it myself."

Cuddy nodded. There must be excess scar tissue that needed to be removed. She shuddered at the thought and for about the fifth time in the past hour, blinked away the tears.

"Page Forbes," she said quietly. "She can do it."

Brenda nodded and did as she was told.

She remembered Forbes walking in and getting straight to the point, treating her the same way she would any other patient. Cuddy had squeezed her hand in appreciation, which was followed by a sympathetic smile.

Fifteen minutes and a local round of anesthesia later, the procedure was done. She was no longer pregnant.

Dr. Forbes had left the exam room and went to fetch some forms that Cuddy would have to sign. This time they would require her real name—a pseudonym was no longer acceptable.

"Someone needs to drive you home," said Brenda. "Do you want me to go find House?"

Cuddy shook her head.

"I keep an extra suit in my bathroom," said Cuddy. "I need you to bring it to me. This skirt is…" Her eyes darted towards the skirt that had hastily been placed on the other side of the room. "The skirt is ruined."

"Dr. Cuddy—"

"Just do that for me, okay?" she interrupted. "I will figure everything else out."

Brenda simply nodded and headed out the door.

She called her sister and asked her to pick up Rachel from preschool, and if she could stay with her for the night. She made up some excuse about how she was stuck at the hospital all night long, which was met with a snide comment about how she worked too much. Cuddy let it go and thanked her, promising to come by first thing in the morning.

She instructed Julia to tell Rachel that she loved her.

And she hated herself for it, but instead of paging House and asking him to come and get her, she called the number for a taxi to drive her home.

* * *

She'd been sitting in the dark for almost two hours. For a reason she couldn't quite figure out, she was sitting on the floor with her back pressed up against the couch. The only thing lighting the room was a small lamp that sat atop an end table in her living room.

She hadn't cried yet.

She was angry and she was upset and she was _miserable_, but she hadn't cried. And that of course, only made her feel even guiltier about the situation. What kind of mother was she if she didn't cry over the loss of her own child? She'd cried over not getting pregnant, she'd cried when she lost Joy, but now, when she lost a baby of her own, she couldn't find the strength to mourn.

Which only meant that when she did find the strength, when she finally dealt with the issue, the inevitable breakdown would be even worse than she thought possible.

She grabbed a bottle of nail polish that had been left on the coffee table and threw her hand down angrily, desperate for a distraction. She didn't notice the unfortunate color she had chosen until she had already finished one hand.

It was a red so dark it was almost black.

She lifted her unpainted hand to her mouth, gasping as she realized what she had done. Her hand began to shake uncontrollably, and she started to choke back sobs. She tried to get up but she couldn't move from her spot, as if there was some cosmic force keeping her glued down to the floor.

She felt like she was suffocating.

Her hand collided with the open bottle of nail polish, and she watched in horror as it flung off the table and fell to the floor, landing on its side.

The red polish slowly dripped from the bottle, forming a small pool on her pristine white carpet.

The imagery was certainly not lost on her.

Her entire body began to shake as she stared at the stain on her carpet. She was certain she was screaming at this point, but she couldn't be sure—her entire mind was blank yet incredibly full, and she wanted nothing but to turn her mind off and make it _go away. _

But it wasn't going away, and her mind wasn't going to turn off—it wasn't going to relinquish control to her. She was being overpowered, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Because there was nothing she could do to ease this unbearable pain.

She didn't know how long she had been sitting there when she heard the sound of the door creaking open. She knew it was him, but she did nothing to try and stop the sobs from escaping her lips.

There was no point to it now.

She doesn't know if he says anything, and she doesn't even acknowledge his presence until his arms are wrapped around her body. She grips his shirt with her fingers, pulling him as close to her as physically possible, and he gently strokes the back of her hair.

His eyes spot the red-stained carpet and the half-empty bottle of nail polish, and he closes his eyes, because the imagery certainly isn't lost on him either.

He watches as she takes one more deep breath, and his heart breaks because _her_ heart is broken, and he's once again taken aback by his own emotions, because he was feeling things he had never thought were possible.

"I lost our baby," she said, finally mustering up the courage to pull away from him and look him in the eyes. "I should have told you I was pregnant…I should have been more careful, I should have—"

"Stop," he said, cutting her off. "This isn't your fault." He ran his hand across her tear stained cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I wanted to wait another week, in case anything had happened…"

This time he cut her off with his lips, and she kissed him back, falling into his embrace even more. He was the first to break the kiss, but he didn't dare let go of her. "Let's not talk about it right now."

She nodded as she curled up into him, her head falling to his lap. He let his hand drape over her body, and it paused at her stomach. She closed her eyes as she gripped his hand.

"Is it possible to miss someone you never even met?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. She turned her head so she was looking up at him. She saw that his eyes were red and glossy, and for the first time she realized she wasn't the only one who had lost something. "I think it is."

* * *

_A/N: And finis. Kind of a downer, but underneath it all, you could see the progression in House's character. Leave a review to let me know what you think!_


End file.
